


Of Parks and Rooftops

by pyrophoric



Category: The Rich Man's Daughter (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4595745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrophoric/pseuds/pyrophoric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I keep going to a lot of places and ending up somewhere I've already been” ― Matthew Weiner</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Parks and Rooftops

Althea goes to the park everyday.

 

It’s right by Miggy’s school and a half an hour drive from her home. But she goes there every day, even during weekends. A risk, definitely, since there’s nothing for her to hide behind then. No son to take to school, no work at the office. All she has is a book, a lopsided smile, and a flimsy excuse that she needs her usual alone time.

 

She knows it’s not enough, but it’s something.

 

Kathleen stops asking her about it after a month. The woman doesn’t say anything now, she just gives her a look. And it never fails to add a falter in her step as she heads towards the front door. But Althea doesn’t stay; she never does. Guilt, she finds, might be easier to ignore the more she does it, but it is getting harder to swallow.

 

And so she drives to the park, sits on her usual bench, folds her legs beneath her and opens a book.

 

Her personal library has grown exponentially over the course of a few months. She’s always leaned towards non-fiction works ― biographies, historical accounts, and whatnot. It might be due to her own sordid history, but stories of real-life fighters appeal to her more than romanticized tales of fictional characters. Although… for some reason or another, her collection has somehow expanded to the gag-inducing romance genre that she used to abhor.

 

So even though it pains her to admit, most of the books she brings to the park are as sappy as the tree by her bench.

 

She reads for an hour. Or _tries_ to, at least.

 

There’s only so many words you can read when your eyes start to wander and take in the scenery instead of the ink.

 

Unfocused and far away, brown eyes flit from person to person, from flower to flower. And they always ― _always_ ― land on the bright blue rope of a broken swing and just stay there. And that’s where she regains clarity. Followed by a tightness in her throat and a twinge in her chest.  

 

Althea goes to the park every day. Every single day, rain or shine. She sits on the bench, opens her book, skims through the pages and… just waits.

 

And hopes.

 

And regrets.

 

Because Jade never comes back.

 

* * *

 

Jade goes to the rooftop everyday.

 

In the middle of the afternoon, in between meetings and phone calls, she leaves her desk and treks up five flights of stairs in her heels and dress. The building has an elevator ― four, in fact ― but there’s something poetic about working for her daily dose of catharsis.

 

She tells others it’s exercise. She tells herself it’s penance.

 

Sally stops asking her about it after a week. She just gives her a look, and then a slight little nod. She never follows after her ― and that’s something. Giving her space was never her naggy bestfriend’s strong suit, but Sally gives her room to breathe… and grieve. And Jade is nothing but thankful. A broken heart, she finds, might need time to heal... but also solitude to grow stronger.   

 

She stays at the rooftop for several minutes ― on her worst days, sometimes a full hour. She stands just by the edge, leaning against the railing, taking in the hustle and bustle of the urban jungle below. She breathes in the heavy air, one steady breath at a time. It clears her head, ironically enough. Though oftentimes it does nothing to the heaviness in her heart.

 

She goes to the rooftop every day. Every single day, rain or shine. She stands by the ledge, hands on the railing, soaks in the view and… just sighs.

 

And hopes.

 

And regrets.

 

Because Althea has moved on. And even though she’s braver now, she’s still alone.

 

**FIN.**

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, thanks to my beta (and long-suffering GF) for making this even the tiniest bit coherent. I know this is sad, but I promise to write fluff... eventually. I'm just in a very angsty mood this morning and my muse was actually being nice for a change.


End file.
